Farewell, Narnia
by KaterineKasdorf
Summary: Oneshot turned series. Deals with different characters as they say pay their final goodbyes to Narnia. Chapter Three added.
1. Peter

He just needed a moment alone, to let it all sink in.

"_You will not be returning to Narnia, Son of Adam, Daughter of Eve," the Lion told them, looking gravely into their eyes._

"_Never?" Susan queried._

"_You are too old. You are no longer children, and only children can enter this land from yours."_

"_Oh, Aslan!" cried Susan, throwing her arms around his neck with a lack of reserve unusual in the dignified girl._

_Peter just stood there, tears streaming down his cheeks. He didn't bother to wipe them away, didn't try to hide the fact that he was crying. He was a great king, and there was no shame in tears. When Susan stood at last, Aslan looked up at Peter. Peter felt that there was something that the lion was waiting for, something he was supposed to do or say, but he just couldn't do it. He bowed at the neck and then lifted his sword to salute Aslan. _

"_Come on, Su," he said at last, "We should get our things."_

Now, though, as they walked through the woods toward Aslan's meeting place the full impact of what was happening seemed to hit him at once. "You go on ahead, Su," he said, his voice rough.

"Are you all right, Peter?" she asked him gently.

"I just need a moment," he answered. She touched his shoulder comfortingly, then walked on leaving Peter alone in the woods. He stood staring at the trunk of a tree, then reached out his hand tentatively to touch the bark. The feel of the living being beneath his palm made him shudder, and he dropped slowly to his knees sliding his hand along the trunk as he went. "Narnia, Narnia, Narnia," he murmured softly. In this land he had been the High King. He had grown up here. Here he had learned what it was to be a man here, and most of all had learned how to commune with his Creator. He felt that there was not a rock or tree or shrub in all of this land that he did not know intimately. Every piece of land held a memory. He felt that his very soul was wrapped up in this world. How could he ever leave it behind?

"You must learn to love your own world now, Son of Adam," a rich voice said from behind him.

"Aslan," the boy king said, "I thought you would be with the others." He stood unsteadily to his feet and turned to face the lion.

"I have come where I am most needed," he answered looking searchingly at Peter.

He knew better than to hide what he was truly feeling. "I don't want to go. I'm afraid - "

"Afraid, Son of Adam?"

"Afraid of going back and becoming – well – You see, sir, when I was here I knew what my purpose was," he admitted. "I was the High King and it was clear what I was to do. Things are so much clearer here. I feel like I belong. But there, in our world, I'm just a kid."

"You are who you are, Peter," the lion said. "The difference is only in your mind. You need to return to your own world so that you may discover that the person you are here still exists there. What you have seen and been here is only a preview, a hint of who you are to be in your own world."

"You mean that I came here to learn who I was supposed to be there?"

"That is correct."

"I think I understand, sir," he said, but there was still something that was bothering him. Something would be missing in his own world, even if he were suddenly named king of England. As usual, Aslan understood.

"Don't worry," He said gently, "I am there, too."

"You are, sir?"

"I am."

"Then I suppose I can take it all right, leaving Narnia forever, as long as I can see you there," the boy and the lion smiled at each other, then the lion motioned for the boy to kneel. The lion laid his heavy, velveted paw on the boy's shoulder and placed a lion's kiss on his forehead. "Remember," he whispered in Peter's ear, "Once a king…"

Peter bent his head, and when he lifted it he was a boy no longer. "I'm ready now, Aslan."


	2. Susan

"It's all rather different from what I thought. You'll understand when it comes to your last time." Always confident, Peter could even handle leaving his beloved Narnia. But for Susan it was different. Susan had always had so much trouble believing. There was always something there – some voice in her head that whispered, "This can't be real, Susan Pevensie. You'll wake up one day and this will all have been a silly dream." And that was the nice voice. There was a nastier one that said, "Foolish girl! You knew better than to believe in all of this. You let yourself believe even though you knew better. Soon you'll pay." Then the first would say so gently and wisely, "Best not to become too attached. That way when it's all over it won't hurt so bad."

She'd resisted those voices for years. As a queen she'd been able to silence them completely until one day when she and her brothers and sister were on a hunt… "I told you! I told you!" shouted the voices loudly. "Oh dry up!" she shouted back. And for the next year they were silent. Then she was in Narnia again! She hadn't even thought to believe it until she found a little golden knight with one ruby eye. "Can it be…?" she didn't want to hope, but hope sprang up in her nonetheless.

And then Lu saw Him. He was there, and that meant that everything was going to be real and beautiful again. It was that dream, that delightful strain of music. But she didn't see Him. He didn't appear to her, He appeared to her little sister. He and Lucy had always had a special relationship. They had a language that she had never been able to understand. Oh she wanted to, with all her soul she wanted to, but those little voices were always there warning her to guard her heart. She knew He was really there, but she couldn't admit it. She couldn't face that her own fear and unbelief kept her from Him. So she denied believing. "You were dreaming, Lu."

But he was there. At last she saw Him. He was as beautiful and frightening as always. She could have cried bitter tears of shame, but she kept them back. And oh, His eyes! He called her by name and looked deep into her. "You have listened to fears," He said. She did cry then, but when she looked into his eyes there was no reproach. "Now you are a lioness," He said. A lioness! He made her His very own. It was a special relationship between just them. Her heart soared.

"You are too old. You are no longer children, and only children can enter this land from yours." He told them. Her heart plummeted. She felt as if she were standing on the edge of a cliff and the rocks beneath her feet started to fall away. "Oh, Aslan!" she gasped, and did something she never thought she'd do. Unasked she threw her arms around his neck and wept. He said nothing as she sobbed, but as she calmed she felt something wet against her cheek – a lion's tear.

At last she stood shakily and looked into his eyes. There was such sadness there. He knew. He understood. Susan bowed her head in shame. The voices were screaming at her. She did not ever hear what Peter said to her before he walked away. Suddenly she felt warm breath on her hand. She looked up into His face. His eyes were so solemn as they looked into her own. "I'll be here when you come back," He said. "Back?" she breathed. He nodded, and a single tear ran down her cheek. They understood each other.


	3. Digory

He had always been the kind of person who wanted to know – everything. His first words as a baby had been "what" and "why." As a grown man, he had seen the most fascinating places in the world. He had been to the pyramids and the Taj Mahaj. He had walked around Stonehenge and on the Great Wall of China and Mayan temples. Only one other person in the world knew that the crumbling monuments of this world's greatest achievements could not compare to what he had seen as a young boy.

Sometimes he caught glimpses of it. The morning sun would glance through leafy boughs and hit a tender sapling in just the right way that it looked like it was moving and growing. His heart would leap into his throat until he realized that there was nothing extraordinary about a little tree blowing in the wind. The loud caw of a raven would send him into a fit of laughter and occasionally he would inspect a horse's withers carefully as if he expected something to be sprouting from them.

Only one other person in the world understood why he was so grim on the day the bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. On that day he sat in his wing chair before the fire muttering to himself. The servants only caught bits of it as they brought him his meals and stoked the flames. "Secret as evil as…" he'd say, letting his voice trail off. He would groan softly and rest his head in his hands, "Use it to destroy all living things," he'd say.

The only person whose presence he acknowledged that day was a dear friend who had boarded the first train from London that morning and ridden late into the evening. He met the matronly lady at the door and she threw herself into his arms. "People on the train were celebrating," she said, "and all I could think of is what He said to us as we stood by the pool of - " He cut her off, "I know," and ushered her into the library where they continued their conference in fierce whispers.

But that was then, and now he was selling his beautiful home in the country and going to live in London again. He felt older than he had ever felt before as he sorted through his belongings, marking this to be sent to his new house, running his hands over that for the last time when a collector came to buy it. "But after all," he philosophized, "if we can't dispose of our belongings without it ripping our hearts out, then it is we who are owned by them and not the other way around."

At last, every room was emptied except for one. It had been so far ignored because it was nearly empty to begin with. All it had was a dead fly on the windowsill, two shriveled mothballs on the floor, and a wardrobe in the corner. He entered the room alone, shutting the door firmly behind him. If there was ever a perfect time for him to find himself back there it would be now when he was an old man forced from his ancestral home. His steps were not as sure and confident as they had been in his younger days, but he slowly made his way across the floor until he stood before it.

He caressed the intricate carvings on the face of the wardrobe – the interlocking rings, the golden apples, and the noble face of a lion. No one had noticed the new tree that sprung up overnight in his backyard except for perhaps the housemaid (who thought she had really never had such a day). When he had heard that it had been blown down, he came from the country himself to retrieve it and hand it over to the talented cabinetmaker. The two of them had spent many an hour arguing over the precise design of the wardrobe. The old man laughed now to think of their heated words.

"I wonder," he murmured, leaning against the door and breathing deeply. It still lingered there – that heavy, golden, exciting smell. A voice from long ago echoed in his mind. "What I give you now is endless joy. Pluck an apple from the tree." Even now, the smell made him feel younger and stronger. It was something he had discussed with the little girl. "There's some magic that hangs around his mane. It makes you brave," she said.

The old man lifted his head to stare again at the carved lion and this time he felt sure that the eyes had taken on a compassionate glow. He raised his hand slowly to the doorknob all the while watching the lion. But the soft look on the face faded and was replaced with a sterner look. It was not quite a growl yet, but it definitely bordered on one. The old man dropped his hand and shook his head. He knew exactly what he would find inside that wardrobe. There were eight old fur coats – four less than there had been before the war.

"It's for the best, I suppose," he said. "Come in by the gates or not at all." And he turned and left. He did not glance back at the wardrobe, but if he had, he would have seen that the lion's eyes were twinkling joyously now as though He knew some delicious secret.


End file.
